Maybe
by tastingstars
Summary: Holden Caulfield: ten years later. Because sometimes when everything goes right, everything goes wrong again. Rated T for the usual language.


Maybe

_Holden Caulfield: Ten Years Later_

_Disclaimer: The Catcher and the Rye and its characters belong to J.D. Salinger. I'm just messing around in Holden's mind._

Everybody's always looking for stories where somebody turns their whole goddam life around. I swear, if I see one more troubled youth learn life lessons from a new teacher or fall in love with some classy girl or something else just as phony one more time, I may puke. I swear I will. Because that kind of stuff only happens in the goddam movies. It's not true. It's all phony lies and crap to make you feel depressed as hell with your life. Like you're not worth anything if you don't go to Yale and marry a pretty girl named Barbara and punch out a few whiny kids.

Anyway, if you were looking for a story where somebody turns their whole goddam life around, you won't find it here. I am a failure by anybody's standards, I would think. It didn't start out like that in the beginning. I was okay and all, I just wasn't "applying myself" at school or some crap like that. The last school I went to, before they sent me to that place, was this phony one, called Pencey. Don't go there, if you can avoid it. It was full of sonuvabitches then, and I'm sure it's filled with sonuvabitches now. Once they all flock together at some place, sonuvabitches stay there till the end of the world.

There was this one guy there, I used to call him "Ackley kid." He hated that. He always told me, "I'm old enough to be your goddam father" when really he was only two years older, and much stupider. Boy, did I hate Ackley kid. He was a mess, he had all these pimples and never used a handkerchief when he was popping them. Also, he never brushed his teeth. I swear, his breath smelled like some week old stiff. Completely disgusting. But, you know, I sort of miss Ackley kid. He grows on you, after a while. He was just such a mess and they wouldn't even let him join the goddam secret fraternity. It's just that some people are complete pains without even helping it. And they're so lonely and sad, and it makes you feel bad even if you don't want to.

And then there was my roommate, Stradlater. I don't even like to think about him, to tell you the truth. That's how much of a sonuvabitch he was. He was real greasy and slick with the girls. Always giving them the time even when they told him to stop. He makes me sick.

After I got kicked out of Pencey, I got a little funny. I was depressed and all. The psychoanalyst guy said that it was because my brother Allie died a few years before, but it wasn't just that. It was the way everything was so wrong. And I mean everything. I guess that sounds crazy. It's just hard to explain unless you've felt the feeling. Like your whole world is crashing down around you, or something. Sometimes things were good, like when Phoebe was on that carousel, and I was gonna be a deaf-mute or a catcher in the rye, protecting all the kids and all, and when everything was going to stay the same like the Eskimo catching the fish in the museum. But then there are too many girls you love even though they're phony and too many little boys that get cancer and too many "Fuck you" signs in the world to rub out. And that just makes me so goddam depressed, I swear.

I don't really want to talk about the next part. My parents got one look at me, soaking wet and in my backwards hunting hat, and sent me off to some place. They thought it would make me better. Less depressed and all. Them-my parents-and all the phony doctors acted like it was so easy. You just go off to some place and you get better. Then everything's alright and you can act like a good little phony for the rest of your life.

I got better in the beginning, I think. The medication they gave me made me not think so much. Especially about Allie and all. And I went back to school at some new place and then went to college, too. I even dated Jane Gallagher for a bit, if you want to know the truth. Never gave her the time, though. I didn't want to. She wasn't the same. I bet she didn't even keep her kings in the back row anymore.

I dated other girls, too. Smart, pretty, funny ones. But none of them really mean anything to me anymore. I'm not even sure if they did then. Sometimes, you can be with anybody but still be alone.

Everything was good, for a while. I was doing well. I wasn't thinking, I was doing. I was going to be a lawyer and all. I was doing well in school, had an attractive girl, and everybody was proud of me. That killed me. Me being the pride and joy of the family and all.

But then one day a few months ago, I woke up and couldn't think straight. All I could remember was that flitty pervert that I used to have for a teacher, Mr. Antolini, and the way he patted my head all those years ago. And the way I could sometimes break ol' Phoebe's heart with the things I said. And that elevator guy, Maurice, who beat me up and took my money off of me, with that goddam prostitute, Sunny. I shouldn't say that about her. She was just a kid, and somehow she ended up what she was. It killed me, what the world could do to kids. It really did.

All of it happened pretty fast. Suddenly I realized I was lying in bed next to a girl I didn't know or love. And all the hope and happiness I had felt over those nine and half years just drained out of me. I did not want to do that, anymore. I did not want to be a lawyer. Or anything at all, as a matter of fact. All I knew was that I really needed to find that red hunting hat, you know the one with the my people shooting hat. I thought I had it somewhere with me in the house. I didn't though. The people at that institution had thrown it away. I remember just collapsing onto the ground, looking through a bag, and screaming. I couldn't stop. I just screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed.

Eventually they took me to another place, different than the one before. I'm here now. It's not for kids, so the people here are crazier. They scare me. They have wild eyes and sometimes they just don't wear pants. And when they talk. That kills me. They just say all these crazy things that don't even make sense. This one guy on my floor, he's always saying "the truth will come to ya!" That's all he ever does, besides throwing cold mashed potatoes in the psychoanalyst's hair. He used to save the mashed potatoes in his pockets, and just throw them at the psychoanalyst when they had their sessions, apparently. It was quite good for a laugh. Too bad they won't let him get near potatoes anymore.

Seeing people like the mashed potatoes guy makes me think that I don't belong here. I'm nothing like the mashed potatoes guy. But the psychoanalyst said that my problems are deep inside me, and I'm too good at hiding them for my own good. Whatever the hell that means. People never believe what you say to them. I mean, I know I'm a little crazy, but I'm sometimes sane, too. But people are always thinking you're all crazy. People always think something's _all _true. It kills me.

D.B. and Phoebe are pretty upset that I'm here, that I'm like this again. D.B.'s doing well. He's still writing for the movies, and they even made one out of his short story, "The Secret Goldfish." It was brilliant. He made a load of dough off of it, too. Phoebe's in high school. She's really smart. Everybody loves her. She's charming like that. They both come visit me sometimes, but not that much. It makes them sad, I think.

My parents just gave up on me, almost. They care, but I guess they're ashamed of me. I don't blame them. Everybody feels bad for them, since they had one son die of leukemia and one go crazy and all. People are terrible when they feel bad for people. They whisper about these poor people behind their backs, like they can't handle hearing. That kills me. The idea that people can't bear hearing about their own problems.

The psychoanalyst guy is always asking me what I think about my life. I don't know what the hell to tell him. I don't really know, I guess. I used to think I knew, but then that one day everything went back to the way it was before. Maybe things will go back to being good again. Maybe I'll be able to convince myself to be a phony lawyer with some wife named Barbara and a few whiny kids. Maybe.

Maybe my life will change, maybe it won't. Life's a game and all, like ol' Spencer said. Things get pretty messed up when you don't play by the rules.


End file.
